Heroes and Hellraisers
by Satan's Sweeties
Summary: In which America's boss employs him as a tour guide for the nation's capitol and the Bad Friends Trio decides to sign up just to bug the hell out of him. Crack, like whoa.


"AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Dropping the spoon with a loud squeak, Italy froze for a second before bending over and picking the utensil up off the floor. "Ve~" he said, running the spoon under the sink to wash off the dirt, "did you hear that, _fratello_?"

"_Sì_, I heard the girly scream," Romano replied, sinking further into his chair and crossing his arms over his chest impatiently. "Now hurry up and finish cooking! I'm hungry and that tomato bastard didn't cook anything I like today."

_

* * *

"…HHHHHH!"_

Prussia sat up from his position on the couch, Gilbird squawking in protest as he tumbled off the albino's head and landed in his lap. "What the hell was that?" he asked, ignoring the pissed off bird hopping up and down on his nether regions. "Did Hungary see a bug or something?"

"Yeah, and he's on my couch," came an unimpressed voice, which was quickly succeeded by a frying pan to the head of the unsuspecting former nation.

"Ow, ow, ow! Austria, control her!" Whack. "Damn it! That fucking _hurts_! This is so not awesome!"

* * *

America's scream had long since died out, leaving just a silent semblance of a shriek accompanied by wide blue eyes and a gaping mouth. Five seconds later, the world superpower gasped dramatically and stared at the President with a scandalized look. "How can you… How can you suggest something so _terrifying_, so _horrible_, so _vile_?"

He sighed. "America, you make it sound as though I've asked you to cut off a limb. I simply suggested that you—"

"But that's the problem! I already _have _one, and it's bad enough! What would _ever_ make you decide that I need _another _one?"

The President pursed his lips and looked his country in the eye. "We're trying to give the youth of the nation a positive role model, and what better hero than the United States of America?"

Having finally calmed down enough to breathe normally, America plopped his ass down in the chair facing his boss and ran a hand through his hair, Nantucket pointing skyward as usual. "Look, I…" he started, glancing out the window behind the President and taking in the scenery. "I understand what you're trying to say, but there's got to be some other way! I could… I could substitute teach American History classes! Anything but _that_!"

"I'm sorry, but it's already been decided. You've been requested for a private tour that starts in an hour, so I'd suggest you get moving."

"…yes, sir."

_

* * *

Fuck my life_, America thought to himself, grimacing at his boring tour guide outfit and the nametag that read 'Alfred F. Jones.' Frowning, he tilted the nametag and promptly blinded himself from the glint that bounced off. "Shit!" With his squinted, spotty vision, he noticed a trio of people headed toward him, laughing and nudging each other like there was some big joke.

America figured he could handle being a tour guide.

Until he got a good look at his clientele.

"Yo!"

"_Hola_!"

"_Bonjour, mon ami_~!"

Oh, God.

Choking back a sob, America stuttered, "Wh-What the hell are you guys doing here?"

Smirking like a bastard, Prussia slung an arm around the mortified American's shoulder and answered, "Geez, you make it sound like this was planned. We just wanted to come and visit you. Is there something wrong with that?"

The blond was not convinced. "How did you find out?"

"_Mon cher_," France said in his normal France-y way, "we could 'ear your screams all ze way from ze embassies. You 'ave strong lungs, _non_?"

"…really?"

Spain nodded enthusiastically, smiling warmly. "_Sí_! That, and news travels fast! Feli heard it from somewhere, and Lovi came and told me!"

'Alfred F. Jones' whimpered before coming to his senses and asking, "Wait, I thought the tour was booked for four people?"

"I'm right here!" a small, quiet voice interjected from the back.

America shook his head. "Eh, doesn't matter. Let's get this shit over with…"

* * *

And then they had sex.

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Just kidding.

But you were hoping for it, right?

Don't lie. I know you were.

I know.

Don't lie.

_I know_.

* * *

"So, what's that big pointy thing over there?" Prussia asked, poking America and slurping noisily through his straw. "That thing that's like, two different colors. It's fuckin' tall."

Suppressing the urge to strangle the irritating albino, America replied, "That's the Washington Monument. It's bi-colored because the first part of it was built years before the rest of it. Any more questions?"

"_Oui_." Christ on a bike. "I do not understand 'ow zis is a tribute to George Washington. It doesn't look like 'im at all."

Foreign bastards. "Let's pretend that for the sake of this damn tour, obelisks were very 'in' at the time of construction, 'mkay? Let's also pretend that Washington enjoyed obelisks and promoted their supposed 'awesomeness.' Now please, kindly shut the hell up before I throttle all three of you and piss my boss off, not to mention such an action can be taken as a declaration of war."

And so there was silence.

Beautiful silence.

Beautiful, well-deserved silence.

Beautiful, well-deserved, priceless sile— "We can visit _la Casa Blanca_, _verdad_?"

* * *

Right eye now sporting an almost imperceptible twitch, America nodded at the White House security and ushered his ragtag little gang of scum-suckers into the building with a sense of urgency never before seen from the usually lax and laid back nation.

America.

Land of the Free.

Home of the Brave.

Central Hub of All Things Lazy and Relaxed.

Is urgent.

My God.

What is this world coming to?

"Over here," the poor sucker grit out, "we have the White House kitchen, where the chef prepares meals for the First Family."

The rest of the tour of the White House continued in a manner such as this, and by the end of the damn thing America was a hair's width away from tearing out all of his. After telling them to please, hesitate to ask any additional questions, he ever so politely showed them the door and tossed their asses out of it.

Sighing in relief, he slumped over to the Oval Office and collapsed on the couch.

* * *

"Oh my God," America moaned, covering his eyes with one arm, "yesterday was _terrible_. I hope I never have to lead another tour group again for the rest of my life."

Uncomfortably, the President of the United States of America cracked a smile and rubbed the back of his neck. "About that…"

The arm dropped. "You didn't."

"I _did._"

Of course, this all led to dear, sweet, lovable America standing outside in the heat to once again lead another damn tour group. With any luck, it wasn't anyone he knew. After pulling the same sun-blinded stunt as the day before, he finally spotted the group he was leading.

"_Buongiorno, _America~!"

"Shut up, bastard! I'm sure he can see us!"

What did he do to piss God off?

As the group approached, America smiled weakly. "Hey, guys."

Grinning smugly, England said, "Afternoon, wanker."


End file.
